


Mistaken Identity

by BoughtSomeThought



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Non-Consensual Kissing, Serial: s110 Meglos, Serial: s136 The Twin Dilemma, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 05:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30067047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoughtSomeThought/pseuds/BoughtSomeThought
Summary: The Doctor has been summoned to Vyllah XI, a mostly uninhabitable planet, to help an old friend work out some machinery. Meanwhile, an old enemy has caught wind, and is coming to steal the TARDIS using some new tricks.(NOTE: There is a scene of a non-consensual kiss. Not graphic enough for an official warning, but I do think that it bears mentioning)





	Mistaken Identity

**Author's Note:**

> The companion in this story is an original character of mine, Rosalyn Everly. She's from 1864, and is from a rather posh background. I like to imagine the Doctor has had a conversation with her regarding some concepts around race and gender, as she was generally progressive for her time and doesn't wish to offend people. If I end up publishing the short story as to how she met the Doctor I'll link it here.

The TARDIS console was making a strange rattling noise. Rosalyn had engrossed herself in the repair manual (which she was making a stellar effort of understanding) while the Doctor continued his routine of messing with something under the console, standing up, making one full, clockwise, turn about the console (being sure to stop at all the cardinal points, right ear cocked into the air, listening for a brief moment before carrying on) and then returning to his repose beneath the machinery, blonde curls forming a messy halo about his head. Rosalyn carefully placed down the dusty tome with a sigh.

“I can’t make heads of tails of it.” She placed her chin on her hands, elbows on her knees, and looked at the Doctor, who was elbows deep in the guts of the wiring.

“Well of course not! You’ve got a couple of centuries of engineering before you get close to understanding those sorts of texts.” Something small, metal and oblong fell from the underside of the console, narrowly missing his face. He picked it up, stared at it, and fitted it back where it should (probably) be. “Your people hadn’t even got motorcars running right yet. That should do it.” He awkwardly shuffled his body out from under the console and hoofed himself up. Rosalyn stood up and walked over to the console, peering at some of the buttons. She looked up at the Doctor and he reached towards a lever. He looked back at her, as if questioning his own intuition. She returned the gesture with slight confusion. He flipped the lever.

All of a sudden, both started to float up and away from the ground. In shock Rosalyn let out a yelp and began tumbling head over heels away from the console, desperately trying to stabilise herself. The Doctor, meanwhile, had managed to keep hold of the lever and so did not separate from the console. Rosalyn tumbled backwards through the air, head over heels. Her arms flailed wildly.

“What’s happening?” She exclaimed as she began to feel rather ill. She still wasn’t used to all the idiosyncrasies of interdimensional travel.

“Oh dear, that’s never done that before! Hang on, I’ll flip it back!” The Doctor struggled slightly to push the lever down without proper purchase. Rosalyn bumped into the wall and ceased spinning.

As the Doctor finally managed to flip the lever, both plummeted towards the floor. Rosalyn was lucky enough to land on her front, only winding herself slightly. The Doctor came down, cracking his head on the edge of the console. Once she had recovered, Rosalyn stood back up and walked over to where the Doctor was lying in a significant daze.

He came to slowly his senses, he realised his head was in Rosalyn’s lap. She was looking very worried and dabbing his forehead with a fine, damp handkerchief that had a very fine tatted edge. She was saying something, although he did not properly process it.

“Oh, Victoria, what happened?”

“I’m Rosalyn. Whose Victoria? Doctor, you hit your head hard on the console. I’ve been trying to keep the swelling down.”

“Sorry Kully” he blinked a few times before sitting up. He looked around, rubbed his forehead, and winced. 

“Rosalyn. You really need to rest Doctor” Rosalyn insisted but she really had no power to stop the Doctor from springing up. He strode across the room and pulled one of the plates off the wall.

“I can’t rest at such an opportune moment for work! I’ll give that Chameleon circuit another try.” He busied himself in the wall as Rosalyn looked on in bemusement and slight anguish. He grabbed a screwdriver from his pocket and started switching wires in and out of different slots in a chocolate box. As the Doctor worked, Rosalyn was restless. He was so engrossed with a tangle of wires that he hardly noticed as she left the room. 

When she returned, she attempted to get the Doctor’s attention by saying his name a few times. When that failed she tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped.

“AH! Romana! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He whipped around in frustration.

“Doctor, I’m ROSALYN.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“No you...” Rosalyn thought better of arguing and changed tack “I was worried so I made some sandwiches.” She held a lovely silver platter in one hand, and on a bed of lettuce were a few neat rows of small, triangular sandwiches. As she spoke, she pointed “these are cucumber, and these are egg and mayonnaise.” The Doctor picked up an egg one, however, before it reached his mouth, his eyes narrowed.

“Worried? Rosalyn, there’s nothing to be worried about!” He gesticulated with the hand holding the sandwich. “Now, if you’d excuse me.” He pulled a nondescript tool out of one pocket of his technicolour coat and placed the sandwich in the other. Far from reassuring Rosalyn, this act simply worried her further.  
Before she could point out the issue with placing such a messy sandwich in a pocket there was a blinking sound from the console that distracted both parties. This was followed by a mechanical churning. The Doctor approached the console.

“A Fax? Who sends faxes?” He muttered.

“What’s a… fax?” Rosalyn was confused. The Doctor apparently ignored her as he tore the paper from the console and skimmed through it.

“What’s…” Rosalyn began to repeat herself as the Doctor swung around.

“A fax, my dear Nyssa,”

“Rosalyn”

“Rosalyn, is kind of like a letter, except the letter is sent as signals, much like using semaphore!” The Doctor swung his arms to various positions and Rosalyn could not help but chuckle. “This Fax says that they need me on Vyllah XI.” He started to press some buttons in an array. “It’s a lovely planet.”

Rosalyn placed down the platter on a chair and came over to the console. There was a distinct tone of worry in her voice, “What do they need you for?”

At this the Doctor stood upright and admitted “I’ve absolutely no clue. But we must answer the call to adventure, else what is the point?” This answer did not satisfy his travelling companion. “You’ll like it. While it is largely uninhabitable, the parts that aren’t are like tropical oases! Although you may want to change?”

She looked down at the warm wintry dress she was wearing. They’d just come back from the blustery planet of Atraxis.

“I suppose I shall” she sighed, before exiting the control room. In her absence, the Doctor punched in the co-ordinates and set a course for Vyllah XI.

-.-.-

“Now we have found him, we simple need to knock him off course...” A strangely suited, well-heeled looking man stood at the controls of a dingy and well lived in spaceship. Behind him stood another three, who looked rather like space pirates, or intergalactic whalers.

“So, wait, what are we doing again?” The one who spoke was stronger and stockier than the rest, and received a slap from the slightly taller, marginally better dressed (if you could say that about any of this unwashed motley crew) one.

“Forb, you’re got a poor IQ for a glass of water.” The taller man sat down and crossed his arms. “But ‘e ‘as got a point mister. I’m not quite sure what we’re doing.”

“Ah, I understand I do not exactly explain myself, but you shall be assured of great riches after I achieve my goals.” As the gangly suited man spoke, he did not turn away from the console. This answer did not assure anyone, and the member of the crew who’d up until now been silent stood up and walked over to where the incongruous man stood.

“Well how do we know you’re tellin’ the truth if you don’t give us any proof? I don’t follow Trover ‘ere for no reason. ‘e’s stupid, but he delivers” this adventurer peered down and scratched the shaven side their head. “I’m no packet of peaches either, but I can tell you’re not telling the ship to do anything that makes any sense by pressing all those buttons.”

“Well, since you insist, Jipa” the suited man hit (what was an approximation of) the enter key and turned around to face the group, “we’re on our way to Vylla XI, the only place the famous gohi fruit is produced. They’ve asked an old adversary of mine to come fix something. I want to finish him off, once and for all.” Trover and Jipa remained unconvinced, as Forb chewed his finger trying to piece together the plan.

“Obviously the demise of my adversary doesn’t entice you, but the prospect of their ship should. It’d be yours, to scrap, sell or use as a replacement.”

“Oi, what’s wrong with my ship?” Jipa scowled, spanner gripped tightly in their hand.

“Nothing is wrong with this ship, but it can hardly... travel through time.”

The crew were in awe of this revelation. That sort of ship was the reserve of dreams and nightmares. Trovers began to salivate slightly at the thought of the famous hoards he could get his hands on. He wiped his face and nose with the back of his crusty flying glove, for once before the saliva began the well-worn journey towards his well patched doublet.

“Naturally I shall remain with it, but we will be able to secure you all the riches you could desire.”

No one spoke for a second. The atmosphere in the ship was close and slightly cloying, and the overhead light began flickering before it was given a firm thump by Jipa. Trovers and Forb looked at each other, and the mysterious man occupied a stare into the middle distance.

“There’s just one problem, mister.” Jipa crossed their arms and looked critically into the glare that bounced from the man’s glasses. “We’ve freed you, given you a body, helped you with our ship, but we don’t even know your name.”

“How inconsiderate of me.” The man chuckled. Forb and Trovers scratched their heads and realised they really hadn’t asked this stranger’s name. They looked at each other and then up to Jipa, who scowled back. “My name is...” recapturing the attention of the three, they looked back to see a completely different person in front of them, round face, blonde curls, awful jacket.

“Meglos.”

-.-.-

Rosalyn found herself violently thrown to the floor of the wardrobe. She was just about to head back to the control room, when the room was thrown into a red glow, and a massive shudder rocked the room. Far from being concerned, Rosalyn picked herself up and supposed the Doctor had been messing with something. Perhaps that vertical stabilisation circuit she’d been trying to wrap her head around while reading the repair manual. After changing into a cotton day dress (rather in the style of the 1900s) she made her way back towards the console room, pondering whether that circuit was as important as she seemed to think it was.

Meanwhile the Doctor was far more worried. In his 700 years this had never happened, the TARDIS only shook like that when he’d messed with something, like the dematerialisation socket, or the fissure tension. What if the TARDIS was being attacked? That didn’t bear to think about, given that it would indicate a fault in the shielding system. That could take months to fix, and maybe even a visit to a specialist. Those visits were a huge hassle, given the age of the TARDIS. Often the technician would be quite apprehensive about working on it, calling it a “museum piece,” fretting about the “irreplaceable original features” and besides he’d done without their help for centuries.

As Rosalyn swanned back into the console room, the sight of a rather panicked Doctor made her realise her earlier calm was unearned.

“Do not worry! I’ve got it all under control,” the Doctor lied as he hurried about the controls, adjusting various, random looking settings. Rosalyn decided to stay out of his way and looked on with much worry. After a few anxiety fueled moments, the Doctor ceased his panic, relaxed and mopped his brow with a surprisingly uneccentric handkerchief.

“What was that, Doctor?” Almost in response to this question, the Doctor sat down in a chair. “Oh! Don’t...”

“Sandwiches!” The Doctor jumped up and turned around to look at the now rather sad looking platter of sandwiches. Placing it onto the floor, he made a now successful attempt to rest on the chair. “I’m not entirely sure what that was. It’s knocked us off course, but other than arriving a bit later than I thought, we seem to be fine. “

Rosalyn looked about the room, searching for something to say. She noticed the large mat of wires hanging out of the wall but declined to say anything about it. She was just glad the Doctor was resting.

-.-.-

The TARDIS materialised on a rusty, shiny cliff. Tufts of dry, yellow grass poked out from various cracks and crevices. There was a tightly snaking path that connected them to a shingly beach below, which was gently lapped by the unnaturally blue sea. As the sea stretched out, it met a green tinged sky, with many small clouds that moved quickly with the wind. In the opposite direction, there was a dense mass of tall, bushy trees bearing a curiously green fruit. Between the TARDIS and the trees was a dusty, dry expanse of grass, ended with a wire fence. 

The Doctor stepped confidently out of the TARDIS and pulled a worn map out of his pocket. Rosalyn followed with a small blue messenger bag, scanning her surroundings. She was particularly taken by the colour of the sky. 

“Now where is that research bunker...” the Doctor furrowed his brow as he peered at the map. Rosalyn looked at it as well, and took it from his hands, turned it ninety degrees and handed it back. She pointed to a square structure on the map.

“That wouldn’t happen to be it?”

The Doctor looked at her, then closely at the box shape on the map. “Uuhm… Yes. I believe it is.” He muttered as he folded up the map (improperly) and placed it under his arm. “Good work Rosalyn!” 

The pair started off in the direction of the institute, eventually following the stony path that meandered along the treeline. Each tree had some green fruit hanging from it, which the Doctor informed Rosalyn was the famed gohi fruit (unripe, of course,) only found on Vyllah XI. As they approached the institute the stage of the trees in the orchard went from ripening to flowering, and Rosalyn suddenly began to violently sneeze.

“ACHOO! What’s going…ACHOO! on?” Her eyes began to stream at the same time. The Doctor went to offer her his handkerchief only to find she had her own with very intricate edge embroidery, stashed in her sleeve.

“Oh dear... you must be allergic to the pollen.”

“Allergic?”

“Look, I’ve got to get onto the institute...” the Doctor gave Rosalyn the key to the TARDIS “There’s a medication called an ‘Anti-Histamine’ in the TARDIS medicine cabinet. I’m sure you saw it when you were making sandwiches? You head back and I’ll let any guards know you’re with me.” Rosalyn, between sneezes, took the key, and started back towards the TARDIS. Once she was past the flowering trees, her sneezing eventually faded, and her eyes stopped streaming. What a funny thing. She’d heard of hay fever in a book, although she’d never met anyone who suffered from it.

She found the box and read the small pamphlet that came with them, just to make sure that she would not be sickened by this mysterious cure. It said something about a side effect of drowsiness. She figured that wouldn’t be too bad and took a pill. She looked further into the cupboard and found some eyedrops. The pollen had left her eyes scratchy, so this seemed like it’d fix it. 

As she put in the drops, she wondered why a machine not bound by spatial dimensions would have such a small kitchenette. It was barely large enough for three people, and in the style of a late 80s kitchen, with nasty laminate counters and cupboard doors in a pebble brown. Directly opposite the door was a metal sink, with a dingy sponge. Under one counter was a small fridge. Under the sink were three bins: one grey, one blue, and one green.

When searching for the kitchenette the first time, she’d managed to find a library to rival that of Alexandria (she presumed,) a large swimming pool, and another, seemingly empty but nonetheless ominous room. She’d been slightly disappointed by the kitchenette, barely larger than a double bed, but the bee tea cosy did make her smile. It felt like something the Doctor might’ve actually put some thought into picking out.

What she failed to notice was the presence at the door to the Kitchenette. It made her jump as she turned around after closing the cupboard. She breathed a sigh of relief after noticing who it was.

“Doctor! You made me jump.” She placed her hands on the counter below the cupboard. She noticed the lid was askew on the sugar and adjusted it. He regarded her carefully and took a step into the kitchenette. “I didn’t know you’d followed me back?”

“Ah, dear, I just wanted to make sure you got back safely.” The presence took a further step into the kitchenette.

“I didn’t have to go that far, ha-ha. It’s not like you to worry.” Rosalyn chuckled, but it was a nervous one. Something wasn’t right. She turned fully to face the presence. Tried to take a step backwards to preserve her bubble. Found that the counter behind her was far closer than she’d reckoned and was pressing into her back. Her mind flashed back to the ball she’d been whisked away from, and some of the rather unflattering gentlemen she’d danced with. The counter was a cold plastic-y finish, typical of late 20th century builds of this sort. 

“Doctor? Could you…” The presence loomed over her. She’d not realised until now how physically intimidating the Doctor was. She attempted to shrink. Being under that calculating, frosty, clinical glare was intolerable. 

“I take it you know him well?” The presence moved in, what seemed impossibly, closer. She could smell him now. It was a sickly-sweet smell; one she’d associated with physicians and surgeons. That would have been funny at any other time. 

“This will only hurt a little.”

She’d hardly time to protest before he moved in, forcing his lips onto hers. It was oddly cold, and she found her breath caught in her chest, causing a dull ache in her throat. Her body locked up, and while he seemed cold, her mouth felt like she’d just eaten a chilli. He’d closed his eyes, but hers remained well open as she attempted to melt into the counter behind her. What was, in reality, a few seconds felt like an hour. When he did, it was quick and he left, without saying a word. Her mouth was like peppery gravel. Able to let air back in, her throat felt like a hot coal.

She slumped down to the floor, unsure of what to do now. Why had the Doctor done that? She looked at the small fridge. She’d been so excited about the prospect of a fridge. It seemed like a miracle invention. Much better than an icebox. Overcome by the uncomfortable heat and an unsatiable thirst she opened it and took out the milk. Milk. Milk was good for you. She removed the top. It was blue. It reminded her of that dress she’d seen at the Forchester Ball. She lifted it to her lips and drank. And drank. She drank a lot of it, although a non-negligible amount ended up running down onto the floor. Screwing the cap back on, the milk was returned to the fridge. After getting up, she swayed slightly, then proceeded to turn around and vomit up all the milk she just drank into the sink. While she emptied her stomach, she noted that the gravelly feeling was gone, or at least covered by the spew. She was glad she’d not eaten, as she did not have to deal with the lumps.  
Once it was all out, she rinsed the sink, wiped her mouth, took another antihistamine, and left.

-.-.-

“My, Gertie, how are you doing? I’ve not seen you in years!” The Doctor excitedly rushed in to greet his old friend. As she stood, she brushed her braids back over her shoulder. They were pulled back into an impressive ponytail. She wore a heavy, green cotton jumpsuit, which was notably practical given the nature of her work.  
“Doctor! Thank the suns you’ve come. It has been too long.” She shook his hand firmly and indicated to a seat. The bracelets on her wrists made a wonderful noise as she moved her hands. As he sat, the pair began to reminisce.

“Who are you travelling with now, anyway? Last time I saw you…” Gertie paused to think, “you were travelling with that American woman. What was her name?”

“Perpugilliam Brown! Yes, I do rather miss her, but I heard she’s nice and settled. I’m now travelling with a one Miss Rosalyn Everly… “Eventually, they got about to the point at hand.

“Well, you see we’ve got a problem with the gohi fruit. We’ve got about an acre that has just decided to rot. Tested for everything as well, fungus, amoebas, bacteria, toxins! Negative on all of them.” As Gertie spoke, she pulled out a sizeable file. She handed it across the desk to the Doctor. He flipped through it. “We were hoping you might be able to look at some of our mechanical equipment. It’s the only third-party stuff we have, but it’s so disgustingly proprietary none of us can work it out.”

“How are you containing the spread currently?” As the Doctor said this, Rosalyn walked in. “Ah! Rosalyn.” The Doctor stood. “Rosalyn, this is my old friend Professor Jane Gertrude. Gertie, this is Rosalyn”

Gertie rose and firmly shook Rosalyn’s hand.

“Charmed to meet you, Professor Gertrude.” Gertie returned the salutation, and they all retook their seats. Rosalyn scooted her chair as she sat. As Gertie explained the situation, Rosalyn sat stiff and slightly vacant. Every now and again the Doctor would look over to her, with increasing concern.

“So that’s the shape of the situation. You’ll each need passes to get about...” Gertie searched her desk but could not find what she was looking for. “Pardon me a second, I’ll go get them.” She stood up, picking up a lanyard off the desk, and exited the room.

“Rosalyn, are you quite alright?” The Doctor looked intently at her face. It looked as though there was some chemical burns around her mouth. He puzzled over how she may have got them. Perhaps eating an unripe Gohi fruit? They were only properly safe to eat when fully ripe.

“Yes.” The answer was curt. She continued to stare at the large painting behind the desk. It was abstract and earthy, with bright coloured shaped scattered across the canvas. A red one took most of her attention, right in the middle of the canvas, disrupting the flow of dull orange and grey behind it. 

When the professor returned, she gave each of her guests a pass. The Doctor decided it was time he should be getting on and thanked her for the pass before leaving the room. Rosalyn rose to follow but was stopped by the professor.

“Rosalyn, the Doctor tells me you enjoy science?” This caught Rosalyn’s attention. She was interested in science but had little chance to conduct any experiments herself back home. While her mother did not approve, Rosalyn had always been more concerned that making a mess might incur the housekeeper’s wrath. She’d always kept her investigations to botany, and drying flowers. 

“He asked if you might shadow one of my researchers while he tries to work out our equipment.” As if on cue a shorter woman, around Rosalyn’s height entered the room. She’d small round glasses, and a slightly grimy lab coat, and greeted Rosalyn with a warm pie smile. “This is Dr Florence Plony.”  
“You can call me Flo!” As she spoke, her triangular pillow of hair bounced. Rosalyn was very impressed by the improbable purple her hair seemed to be. “Come on, I’ll show you the lab.” Rosalyn followed out in slight bemusement.

**Author's Note:**

> I might come back and continue this, especially if people want me to. I will have to work out a proper story structure before I do. 
> 
> Does anyone else feel kinda weird about the danger companions put themselves in when travelling with the Doctor? Like we all know they're fine, but if you didn't know who they were it seems like you should be more reticent about travelling with them. Evidently we do need some people to travel with the Doctor, and it is a kids show so we can't have anything too heavy but still. I think the was Peri is treated in the Two Doctors is some evidence of that.
> 
> Anyway, that was the feeling I was exploring when I wrote that. Vaguely it's tied to a mistake in my own life, but not explicitly.


End file.
